


Year One

by ohohpierre



Series: the devil's got nothing on me, my friend. [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Draco is a small child who needs a hug, F/M, Gryffindor Draco Malfoy, Harry is a small child who needs a hug, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lucius Malfoy is an asshole, M/M, Narcissa tries, Slow Burn, Timeline Shifts, again Lucius Malfoy is an asshole, ron's stubborn, some elements of original story changed removed or edited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-02-01 00:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12692979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohohpierre/pseuds/ohohpierre
Summary: What if Draco was sorted into Gryffindor? A retelling of Harry Potter with one major detail changed. Focused on Draco and Harry. (Eventual relationships to develop so tags with change as needed.)





	1. Chapter One

His father had always instilled familial pride in him, but the thought of a different path hadn’t truly emerged in Draco’s mind until his father revealed the ornate tapestry to him. He stood beside his father, standing small despite being seven years old, and he stared up in awe at the cloth in front of him.

“I’m confident you understand what this is.” Draco didn’t answer immediately, his eyes sweeping across the faces that stared back out at him. He gawked up at a woman with unruly hair and wild eyes, his aunt. He reached upwards, his father promptly swatting his hand away, chastising Draco for his clumsiness. Instead, he simply pointed at several darkened spot interspersed around the fabric, the faces missing with names only just barely legible underneath.

“Who are these people?” Draco kept his arms locked behind his back in an attempt not to point again.

“They were disowned,” Lucius said smugly, stepping forward to point to a name, and Draco held his tongue. He leaned in to read “Sirius Black”. “Blood traitor.” Lucius pointed to another. “Filthy half breed.” Another. “Squib. What do all of these people have in common?” Draco shrugged his shoulders, but corrected himself, keeping up his posture as his father resumed speaking. “They were all _disgraces_. All defectors, affiliated with creatures of dirt, mudbloods.” Draco continued to stand at attention; it was not yet his place to speak. “Our lineage of purebloods all went to Hogwarts, all sorted into Slytherin, except for several on this fabric.” 

“The burned faces.” Lucius beamed in pride.

“Very astute,” Lucius praised, “The majority of those burned on this tapestry were burned for the sole purpose of them not residing within the ancestry.” Draco felt a heaviness in his chest; he realized what his father was telling him, and more importantly, for what purpose he was being told.

“I don’t want to be burned,” Draco said, finally pointing to where his face was located underneath Narcissa and Lucius. His father gave him another smile, not bothering to admonish him.

“Do as you are told, follow the footsteps of those in front of your, and you will be perfectly fine. No son of mine will be consorting with the filth of the world.”

It was not the first time he had heard these words. From the time he could speak and understand, he had heard many words that he was told to never repeat outside of the manor, “blood traitor” included. He was never told by his father, Narcissa would inform afterwards to remain quiet. Respectful of his mother’s wishes, he did as he was told, but the thoughts of “why?” never truly left his mind. Nevertheless, he found himself conditioned. Perhaps in a different time, he’d speak up against the word, but once in front of his father, he found himself intimidated, and would not, for the life of him, speak against him. It would be against his father’s wishes.

Lucius did not feel the need to explain the backstory behind each and every person on the drapery, much less give time to those who were burned, and so left the room, instructing Draco to not touch and not linger long.

He continued to stare at the tapestry, paying more attention to the burned faces that those who were still visible now that his father had left. Without his father in the room, Draco found his confidence, and he reached forward, his fingers brushing the cloth at the face of Sirius. He’d heard the name before, usually in regards to _Him_ and the Potter boy, but seeing as someone had taken the time to burn him from the cloth, Draco assumed he was not worth a discussion. At the back of his mind, he thought about the possibility of asking his mother for more information on the man, but his gut instinct told him that that would not be acceptable.

He kept this exchange strictly between him and his father, his head mulling it over for weeks before it disappeared from the forefront of his mind. 

“Hello. Hogwarts too?”

 

* * *

 

 

 

_They had stood on the platform, watching the other families making their goodbyes, hugs being given to younger siblings, and kiss on the cheeks from parents as they watched their child board the express. Draco was not given this luxury. Lucius turned toward Draco, a pompous look in his eyes as he wrapped a green scarf around Draco’s next, laying it carefully. His mother pressed her hand to his cheek, a quick caress before she pulled back._

_“You’re a Slytherin. It’s where you belong.” Draco stared up at his father, his hand resting against his shawl. He took a breath._

_“What if the hat makes a mistake. What if I’m not a Slytherin?” A look of disgust and disdain flashed through Lucius’ eyes before he corrected himself, plastering a grim smile to his face that even Draco could see was forced._

_“Then you tell that ratty old thing that it’s wrong, because you know the truth. You are a pureblood, a legitimate Slytherin. Don’t bring disgrace to us.” Draco nodded, shoving the questions to arose in him back down his throat. He would not be burned. He broadened his shoulders, putting a smirk on his face as he stepped aboard the train, not bothering to say goodbye. He knew it wouldn’t have been reciprocated._

_He attempts to keep to himself on the train. A pair of taller boys and a smaller girl with dark hair stop in front of his carriage door, and Draco steels himself when they enter._

_“House?” the girl asks, as if she doesn’t know. It’s obvious who he is._  

_“Slytherin,” he says simply, an offhand air spreading through the cabin. The girl nods._

_“Pansy,” she says without prompting, a hand held out to shake, “I already know who you are.” He remains quiet, but shakes her hand nonetheless. She points behind her. “This is Vincent and Greg.” Draco nods to them in acknowledgement. The silence settles again. Draco wants it to remain that way, but Pansy breaks it._

_“I hear Potter’s on the train.” That catches his attention._

_“Is he really?” Draco asks, sitting up on his seat. Pansy nods, and bites her lip._

_“Has your family- “ she pauses, as if frightened, and looks around the compartment, “Is He whispering about? My parents think he is.” Draco covers the shock on his face with ease._  

_“No,” he lies smoothly, knowing his father’s true allegiances, and knowing the consequences for revealing. Pansy sits back, neither completely convinced or doubtful._

_“I wonder how how long before You Know Who finishes the job.” Draco gulps._

 

* * *

 

“Draco Malfoy.”

Draco is staring at his feet, expression bank when his name is called, ringing throughout the hall as he looks up, and starts to head towards the pedestal in front of him. He knows what it’s going to say, and he takes his seat. Staring out at the four tables, his eyes make their way to the last table, surrounded by students dress in greys and greens.

He can’t help it that his mind wanders back to the day in front of the tapestry, his father’s hand on his shoulder, steering him away from those he should not be associated with and back onto the path that would bring their family into the good graces of _Him_.

The hat settles on his head, and Draco is pulled back to the moment at hand, the one his father has been waiting for. He can feel the hat trying to adjust itself, and Draco instinctively reaches us up to brush his bangs out of the way. His eyes catch on those of a messy-haired boy, _Potter_ , in the crowd who must sense Draco’s anxiousness as he gives him a smile that quiets some of the thoughts in his head. The hat begins to speak, it’s raspy voice hitting all corners of the large hall.

 **_“I can see you going a number of ways, Mr. Malfoy.”_ ** Draco shakes his head, slightly, and he closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath.  

“I’m a Slytherin.” 

 **_“Are you? I can see Draco. You may be fit enough for Slytherin, but perhaps other houses would be much more_ ** **beneficial** **_to you.”_ ** Draco opens his eyes in surprise.

“That’s not what Father said.” 

 **_“Draco- “_ ** the hat resumes, and he feels all eyes on him. _It shouldn’t be taking this long._ **_“Draco, I can see defiance in your head.”_ ** He’s ashamed that his first reaction to the thought is “don’t tell Father.” 

“What defiance? I’m a Slytherin,” he rehashes, but this mantra is falling flat even as he is saying it. He is beginning to lose faith in it. “Father said.”

 **_“Fathers lie Draco, yours especially.”_ ** Draco pushed away the implications and shakes his head. **_“You are not a conduit for the ideas of your father. You can be your own person.”_ ** Draco was getting frustrated.

“What are you waiting for?”

 **_“I’m waiting for your acceptance.”_ ** Draco looks up at those staring back at him, their faces in wonder and confusion at the display in front of them.

“Put me in Slytherin.” The hat sighs, and Draco can feel the breath move his bangs, only this time, he does not move them back into place. _I don’t want to be burned._

**_“Better be- “_ **

_Please don’t say it. Father will not approve._  

**_“Gryffindor.”_ **

Draco’s face fall, as does his stomach. The world might not have slowed down for him, but it is certainly quite blurry now, but this does not stop him from hearing. He hears a slow burst of booes from the far table, and he desperately hopes to himself that the blurriness is not coming from tears. What would Father think? He resists the urge to rub his eyes.

“You filthy blood traitor.”

Draco did his best to ignore the words being said against him, and only focus on the clapping from the table lace in red and orange. Draco, feeling quite numb at this point, makes his way to the table, shaking hands with the elders of the group who were eager to meet this new person. The thoughts running through his head were no longer prideful; they were only focusing on “My father is going to hear about this.” He looks to the front tables, to where the teachers are sitting, spying Dumbledore. The man is already staring back at him. There’s an expression on his face that Draco cannot put a name to, but he distinctly feels that Dumbledore knew what the hat was going to say long in advance. However, it takes only a moment to pass before his expression falls to reveal the grandfatherly smile and a raise of glass in cheers. _You bastard._

 

He’s trying not to think, yet his thoughts lead back to those only of his father, of the disappointment and disgust that he will no doubt feel when the news reaches home, when a hand is in front of his face. He looks up from his plate.

“Are you okay?” Draco shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. He turns and finds the boy from earlier, from Madame Malkins. _Harry Potter. Of course._ Potter’s face falls. He must have thought the shaking of his head was a dismissal. “We met earlier, by the way.”

“I know,” is all Draco says, and his thoughts finally change over to the fact that Potter must be finding him incredibly boring. “I’m Draco Malfoy.” Potter laughs. 

“I know,” he repeats, and Draco can’t find it inside himself to frown, so he smiles instead. “I’m Harry Potter.” The two shake each other’s hands. _Maybe this won’t be so bad after all._ However, once formalities have passed, Draco can’t find anything to talk about. Thankfully, Potter speaks before he can find some awkward topic.

“Can I introduce you to my other friends?” _He’s made friends already? We’ve been here five minutes._ Draco manages to push the self conscious thoughts aside long enough to nod his head. Potter turns to two people at his right side.

“Hermione- “ and the girl waves her hand at Draco. Draco takes in her appearance, her bushy hair falling over her shoulders, a smile on her face. Draco waved back. “And Ron.” Draco knew already who Weasley was, having heard of their family through his own. Ron’s bright orange hair hung over his eyes, and he shoved it back as he nodded his head in Draco’s direction as a greeting. Draco does the same.

“It’s nice to meet you Draco,” Hermione said politely, before turning and talking excitedly about something she read in a textbook. Ron had already turned back to his plate, and was chatting with one of his brothers sitting opposite him. Draco felt inexplicably alone. Potter once again broke through his thoughts. _How does he do that so easily?_

“Do you have any older siblings? Ron has a whole bunch.” Draco tried to be grateful for conversation. 

“No, only me,” he replied, and he wanted this conversation to keep going. “Do you have any?” _Oh wait._ “I’m sorry, that was a dumb question.” Potter shook his head.  

“It’s okay,” he said, and silence fell between them once more. He barely registered that Dumbledore was speaking at the front of the hall, addressing the students about the upcoming semesters, and he let his body carry him forward, following behind Potter and Weasley, watching them two of them talking excitedly.

He watched as they passed portrait after portrait, the figures moving along with them as he walked. He waved at a clumsy knight before he walked into Potter’s back. They had reached the common room. 

“You all good?” Potter laughed, and Draco felt his face go red.

“Uh huh.” He turned to face the giant portrait. _Isn’t it supposed to be a door?_ One of the many Weasleys stood at the front of the crowd of first years, motioning for them to quiet down and listen. He stood in front of the painted lady, a large woman in a Victorian pink dress. He greeted her gently.  

“Password?” the woman asked in a gentle voice, her mannerisms filled with elegance. Draco was reminded of the operas his mother had taken him to in previous years. 

Percy Weasley raised his voice so that the first years could all hear him easily. “ _Caput Draconis._ ” Draco leaned forward towards Potter and Weasley.

“Dragon’s Head.” Ron raised his eyebrows in an obvious question.

“What?”

Draco huffed. “ _Caput Draconis._ Means ‘Dragon’s Head’.” Draco stood up straight and didn’t miss the awkward look that Weasley gave Potter. Potter elbowed Weasley in response. 

“Leave him be,” Potter whispered, and Draco took a step back, feeling embarrassed. He’s just wanted to make conversation.

Percy Weasley - who finally explained that he was Head Boy - lead the students inside the dormitory, and Draco let himself take it in for all it was worth. 

The room was decorated in bright shades of red and oranges, the light from the fireplace casting a warm glow over the furniture. Several older students milled about, talking with one another and settling in, many having taken to the armchairs that were placed in front of the hearth. It was nothing like the manor that Draco had grown up in, yet he felt at home. 

“Girl dormitories on the left, boys on the right.” Draco climbed the steps, searching through the dormitories until he found his name on one of the doors. This year, he’d be sharing his room with Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, and because fate is weird and Draco is already having a really great time, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. The latter two were no doubt thrilled as they followed Draco into the room, the two of them choosing beds and began changing into pajamas.

Draco shuffled around, choosing the final bed in the room, and changes before dropping himself onto the covers. Huh, cozier than the Manor. Despite the exhaustion of the day, he can’t sleep. For a while, it seems like the others can’t either, as they all seem to be whispering to each other about classes and school life and feasts and whatever seemed to pop into their heads. Draco can’t really blame them. However, soon enough, weariness set in, and the room slowly becomes silent until the only sound in the room is the quiet breathing of four sleeping boys. Draco sighs.

He lays quietly on his bed, urging sleep to take him under before giving up. He sits, and stares out at the rest of the room, watching the trees blow in the wind outside of the long windows. He keeps his gaze on the moonlight shining on the floorboards as he thinks of what to do.

He can’t stay in Gryffindor, absolutely not. “ _They were disowned._ ” His father’s words always have a way of coming back to him in the worst of times, reminding him of what he’s done. He placed blame on the hat, because it was easier to shift the blame to something else. His mind was still a whirlwind of upsetting imagery, of his father standing above him, his lip curled up into a sneer as he screams at Draco, _furious_.  

It registers in his mind that he must have whimpered because he hears footsteps somewhere on the other side of the room pause.

“Malfoy?” Not anymore. It’s Potter’s voice. “Are you okay?” He considers for a moment this boy, the one who has tried to be friendly when others simply brushed him off. And he thinks, _he’s not what I expected._ He’s _good_.  

“No, I’m not.” More footsteps, and soon Draco can see Potter standing near his bed.

“C’mon.” Potter pulls back the curtain of the four-poster, motioning for Draco to step out. He does, and Potter slips on a pair of shoes, and Draco does the same. “Let’s wander.” Draco pushes away his hesitance of the situation, and decides that maybe the only way to clear his head is to distract himself.

 

Quietly, the two of them tiptoe down the stairs, and Draco notes that Potter seems at ease walking around late at night. Draco was never permitted to take night walks at the Manor, his mother fearing the nightlife around the mansion. Once outside the portrait hole, Potter signaled for Draco to be silent at the continued moving through the halls. The two of them ducked into corners as teachers passed by, and Draco was grateful for the interruption of his thoughts. They came to a quiet side of the building, and Draco looked through the glass windows to see a greenhouse. The two remained silent, but he could see that Potter was trying to say something.

“Quite a day it’s been, eh?” Potter attempted, and Draco saw that the boy was wringing his hands. He was nervous, was he? What did he have to be worried about? “I’m sorry if I am not the best at conversation. You just seem like you needed someone to talk to you.”

“I’m not used to talking to people my age.” Draco thinks, and this must have been the most he’s spoken all day. “Not many children around back- “ he hesitates to say the word ‘home’ “ - back at the manor. Just house elves. ” He stares resolutely ahead, trying not to give away his emotions. He was never as good as his father at hiding his expression. Add that to the ever growing list of things in which he has disappointed his father.

“House elves?” Draco is once again broken out of his thoughts for about the fifth time that day, and glances over at Potter, who looks confused.

“Yeah, they’re elves, but like servants.” He’s not used to describing what seems like simple things to a boy his age, but he does so anyways, and without the usual venom in his voice. This boy confused him. 

“I confuse you?” Draco sighed. Of course he had spoken out loud. “Why?” Draco shrugged.

“Just seems like these are things that everyone should know, yet you don’t.” Potter looked uncomfortable.

“Didn’t exactly have a teacher or anything. Grew up with my aunt and uncle.” 

“Are they wizards?” Potter shook his head no. Draco tried to resist the urge to make a snide remark but failed. His mouth was moving before his brain. 

“You grew up with _muggles_?” Potter looked angry for a moment. Draco continue, not realizing he should just relent. “Scum of the earth, my father says. What about your parents, huh? Did they teach you bloody nothing?” It took Draco a moment to realize that Potter was no longer by his side. Potter had stopped walking. It took another moment for Draco to realize what he had just. “Oh Merlin, I’m sorry, I didn’t- “

“Didn’t think?” Potter didn’t even sound angry with him, just resigned, defeated. He moved to sit on the floor against the stone wall. “Can’t blame you. You still have your parent. Honest mistake, I guess.” Draco almost wished he would get angry at him, because _this_ was just making him even more upset. _What kind of life have you had?_ “What are your parents like?”  

Draco sat down beside Potter, not looking at him. “Mum’s alright. She does what she can for me. Writes me, makes sure I’m doing okay.” He paused taking in Potter’s reaction. He was staring blankly forward, nodding along as Draco spoke. “Father on the other hand, well.” Draco took in a deep breath. So much for a distraction. “He’s probably going to disown me soon.” Potter looked over at Draco with concern in his eyes. 

“Why would he do that?” Potter said, almost sounding offended. “Why would a father do that to his son?” Draco put his head in his hands. He felt his hands shaking. “Malfoy?” 

“He believes that purebloods should stick with purebloods.” Potter simply looked at him, urging him to continue, “he believes I belong in Slytherin, and because I’m not, I’m a disgrace.” Potter shook his head.

“You don’t know my father Potter. He- “ Draco cut himself off, hesitant to continue speaking as if Lucius Malfoy could walk down the hallway at any moment. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “He used to work for Voldemort.” Unlike most wizards, Potter didn’t shutter or gasp. He simply blinked, and looked a bit wary.

“Voldemort,” Potter repeated, “Your father worked with the man who killed my parents?” Draco shook his head yes, and he stood up, leaving Potter to rest against the wall, and he began to pace, feeling anxiety coursing through his body. “Malfoy- “

“Do you think less of me?” Draco asked, his throat tight. Potter stared at him, looking bewildered. 

“Why would I?” Draco scoffed at his naivety.

“Because of my family.” Potter continued to look nonplussed. 

“You are not your family. You can be better than them. And you have your chance now. You don’t have to be like your father.” Potter finally stood up, and tentatively placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Are you going to take it?” 

Draco was overcome with just how innocent Potter seemed, despite everything this boy had lived through. He could only nod. Potter smiled.

“Good.” Potter removed his hand, and Draco wished he hadn’t. Potter looked up and down the hallways, listening to see if he could hear any footsteps approaching.

“What kind of life have you lived?” He paused, his expression blank. “Potter?” He didn’t respond, simply choosing to star at his feet. He seemed very far away. Draco stepped forward, grabbing his arm, urging Potter to look at him. “It’s alright, it’s alright. You don’t have to say. I’m sorry.” Potter scrubbed his free hand over his face, before giving Draco a very tired smile. “Let’s go back to bed.” Potter nodded in agreement, and Draco let go of his arm as he led the way back to the dorms. 

He’d take the next day as it comes.

 

* * *

 

 

His parents still haven’t wrote. Draco is confused. He thinks about writing first but decides against it. He focuses on his studies instead.

Potter continues to break through his thoughts, and Draco is grateful for it. Weasley hasn’t warmed up to him at all, and Draco doubts that he will anytime soon. Their families have had bad blood between them for years, fighting on opposite sides of a war. But at least he lets Draco stay.

Draco realizes belatedly that Hermione is the only one who uses his first name. He doesn’t quite know what to make of this.

 

Draco wakes up one morning to find no one else in the chambers. A quick look at his alarm clock shows that he’s woken up only about 30 mins after he was supposed to, thank Merlin. He pulls on the first clothes he can find, and makes his way to the Great Hall where he finds Potter and Weasley still eating breakfast, Weasley talking eagerly.

 “I just don’t understand why you keep him around,” he hears Weasley say, and he feels his face flush. It was only a matter of time, he thinks. Draco slows his walk. If Weasley is going to start something, then he’d rather be around to hear it, not bothering to let anxiety take him back to common room. Potter says something unintelligible, and Weasley groans. “I’ve told you, his father fought for Him. They’re a family of liars and murderers Harry. He’s going to turn out just like the rest of them.” That causes Draco to pause, his expression blank. But Potter looks up angrily.

“Ron, look, I understand what you’re saying,” Potter begins, and Draco begins to turn back towards the door. He doesn’t want to hear what Potter truly thinks of him. “I know you lost family in the war. But hasn’t he proven himself different from his family just by being sorted? You said it yourself, people like him are sorted fast, barely a touch of the head with the hat.” Draco wants to sleep. “He’s different from his family.” Weasley scoffs, and finally looks up from his plate, and at least has the nerve to look embarrassed as he catches Draco’s gaze. Draco puffs out his chest, faking confidence as makes his decision to walk up to the table and sit next Weasley.

“Good morning,” Draco feigns politeness, and Weasley can see right through it, as can Potter. He simply smirks at the two of them before gathering food to his plate. “Have a good sleep?” Weasley looks down at his plate, picking around with his fork, his face red, and Draco feels like he has won a small victory. “Just so you know, I’m the last person to defend my father, especially now, but if you have a problem with me, you can come to me about it, not just run off to your friends who are too kind for their own good.” Weasley flushes, and Potter looks ashamed, a flash of anger on his face, and Draco takes a bite of his breakfast. “Just for future reference.” 

The three of them are all silent for a moment before Weasley looks up, and Potter nods his head in Draco’s direction before Weasley finally speaks up. “Sorry Malfoy.” It’s barely a whisper, but Draco hears it anyways. He takes a victory when he can. 

Slowly, conversation is worked up once more, and while Weasley and Draco may not be friends, a comfortable air settles between them all.

 

* * *

It’s about a week into the term. Draco awakes to sunlight in his eyes, and a nervous feeling in his stomach. He moved slowly, putting on his clothes with a sigh. He was never a morning person, and he watched as the four other boys in the room slowly awoke as well.

Weasley tugged a sweater over his head as he chatted quietly with Potter, who was listening attentively. They talked of upcoming classes they’d have during they day, Potter particularly excited for Defense against the Dark Arts, and Weasley with flying lessons. Draco noted that he shared classes with the majority of them except for History of Magic and Charms. Draco sat on his bed for a few more minutes before he left for the Great Hall for breakfast, and he heard Potter and Weasley following closely behind him.

Granger appeared at the top of the stairs, falling into step next to Potter and Weasley, who were too engrossed in their own conversation to say good morning. Draco rolled his eyes, and she moved to walk next to him instead.

“Good morning,” she said, far too briskly for 7 o’clock.

“Good morning,” he said politely, and began to focus on which staircases took him where. He was fastly growing confused when someone - Granger - tapped him on the shoulder.

“Take this one, that one has a whole bunch of missing steps.” She turned and began to climb the stairs to the left, and he followed behind her. 

“How can you tell?” he asked, and Granger laughed.

“McGonagall said that if there’s three beams on the railing to be careful because those stairs are unlucky.” Now Draco laughed.

“So you actually paid attention to all that, eh Granger?” She giggled quietly and brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes.

“Don’t want to get lost. I know I’m gonna end up rushing through on the way to classes. I want to be on the lookout.” She waited for Draco on the landing. “And you can called me Hermione, Draco. _Granger_ seems too … formal.” Draco nodded.  

“Alright, Hermione.” She smiled, and the two of them continued walking towards the Great Hall. They talked idly about classes they were going to, Draco more listening than speaking. He couldn’t help but smile at Hermione’s passion in learning, and he found that the two had a common interest in reading.

The doors to the Great Hall were wide open, students meandering about in the aisles, and Hermione began to walk towards the Gryffindor table. Draco still remained reluctant, standing by the threshold of the hall. Hermione turned to him, waving him over with a smile on her face, and he took a deep breathing, hoping to inhale courage and exhale anxiety - he was in Gryffindor now - and began walking towards her.

He was acutely aware of how he was walking, and he felt awkward, as if everybody in the hall was staring at him. He risked a glance towards the Slytherin table, and saw glares from people who could have possibly been his friends in a different time. He stared ahead, ignoring them, and met up with Hermione, who took a seat opposite Potter and Weasley. He followed. Potter and Weasley were no longer speaking, instead focusing on the food in front of them. Hermione greeted the two, who greeted her back this time, and she began making a plate for herself.

Draco felt especially out of place. As he sat here with his not-quite friends, his fingertips felt numb, his chest tight. For a day or two, he had felt alright, like he could do this, but sitting in the Great Hall, being judged from all sides made him want to sink into the floor.

“Malfoy?” Potter said, looking concerned. Draco looked up, and attempted to ground himself as he heard Potter speak. “You should eat something.”

Draco shook his head. “I’m not hungry.” Weasley grumbled something under his breath, and Draco didn’t bother asking him to repeat himself. He had become transfixed on the porthole window near the ceiling of the Great Hall. 

“Mail’s here,” Weasley said excitedly, dropping his annoyance almost immediately as owls began to circle through the Great Hall searching for their respective owners. An older grey owl swooped low past Draco, dropping several parcels in front of Weasley. Surprisingly, a snowy white owl dropped a single note in front of Potter, who seemed just as surprised as Draco to receive mail. 

Draco returned to his food momentarily before a screech cut through the hall. He looked up, and spied an eagle owl, _his_ owl, sweeping through the air. It briefly flew over the Slytherin table, as if even the owl theorized that Draco would be sitting there. Another moment, and the owl had found its way over to the Gryffindor table, and Draco reached upward, catching the letter out of the air before it hit the table. For a moment, he was confused before he realized he had received a red envelope. His stomach sank, and his apprehension must have shown on his face.

“Draco, what’s wrong?” he heard Hermione ask beside him, but he couldn’t get him mouth to work, nor his thoughts. Weasley looked over at the two of them curiously before his face changed to a slight leer. Potter elbowed him.

“Looks like he got a Howler. Was wondering how long it would take.” Potter looked confused, and Draco, terrified, turn the letter over in his hands, examining it. “Better get it over with now.” Draco looked up at Weasley, his expression a mix of terror and disdain. He could feel many sets of eyes on him, even from the teachers table at the front of the hall, and he read the swooping familiar handwriting on the back of the envelope. His father’s handwriting.

_“Do not read in public. You have five minutes to get somewhere quiet and alone before opening.”_

 

Draco sat frozen for a moment, his hands and body shaking, before he clambered up off the bench and bolted from the hall, laughs following him as he ran.

"Poor bastard's got a Howler."

“Malfoy!” He heard footsteps behind and he ran faster. He could feel his face flushing, and he would _not_ cry, _absolutely not._ He continued running, getting as far away from the Great Hall as possible, and ducked into the nearest empty classroom. “Malfoy!” He was breathing heavily, and Potter entered the classroom behind him, and he silently cursed at himself.

“Leave,” he seethed, and Potter took a step back. Behind him, Hermione and Weasley skidded to a stop outside the doorway. Draco dropped to the floor. “I gotta be alone. He’ll know.”

Potter walked forward, and sat down beside Draco. “You don’t have to do this alone.” Potter reached out, attempting to take the letter from him, but Draco yanked it away.

“He’ll know!” He turned around, his back to the group, and he inhaled and held it. Potter moved to stand beside him once again, and place a hand on his shoulder as comfort. Draco shook him off. Potter sniffed and backed away.

“He’s gonna burn me, he’s gonna burn me.” He lifted the wax seal, his hands shaking, and the note lifted quickly, hovering in the air in front of Draco. The envelope moved and shifted, and the letter appeared. Instead of being hit with a shout, he heard his mother’s voice speaking softly and quickly.

 _“Draco darling. Take what he says gently. He’s just angry, it’ll pass, love-”_ He heard a gasp, and his father’s voice took the place of his mother’s. Draco steeled himself.

 _“Look at what you’ve done! You filthy disgrace, you’ve ruined it all!”_ Draco can’t make himself breathe, but he can’t look away. _“You’ve done exactly what I told you not to. Absolute scum of the earth.”_ His father’s voice seemed to change from a yell to venom. _“You are no better than a Mudblood. If He was still here, I’d give you to him myself.”_ He shuddered. Draco could hear the disgust in his voice. _“Shame of my flesh indeed.”_ Draco waited for his father to continue speaking but was met with silence. He sighed. His mother’s voice flowed through the room again.

_“Write me Draco, not home, send to 12 Grimmauld Place, I’ll intercept. Don’t worry darling.”_

The envelope convulsed and burst into flames, falling to a pile of ashes at Draco’s feet. The room was silent for several seconds, and Draco could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He risked a glance upward, and while Hermione and Weasley looked at him with a pitiful look, Potter looked scared with him.

“Bloody hell,” Weasley exhaled, and Potter step forward, desperate to help but not knowing what to do. “Malfoy, mate, I’m sorry-” Weasley broke off, a confused look on his face. When did he become so open to calling a Malfoy “mate”?

“Don’t,” Draco said, breathing heavily. He had sat on the ground, his knees drawn up to under his chin, and he hugged his legs tight, not wanting to move from his spot. He was shaking. “Don’t you see what I’ve done?”

“Draco, you haven’t done anything. None of this is your fault.” Hermione is at his side, and he allows her to rest a hand on his arm. Potter has moved towards the door, Weasley at his side. “This is _not_ your fault.” 

“He- he,” Draco took in a breath before letting himself cry, his body heaving and his face warm. Hermione simply held onto him, grounding him, and he did not feel embarrassed. He felt wrecked, like he was going to shake apart, and he was getting to let it happen.

“He isn’t here,” he hears Hermione say, and wants to believe her, but his body disagrees. _He’s nearby, he’s gonna find me, he’s gonna burn me-_

“Draco,” and it’s Potter’s voice this time, and he sounds choked up, like he’s scared too, “Remember what your mother said. It’ll pass.” _It’ll pass._

Hermione pulls back for a moment, gauging Draco’s reaction, and he takes a breath, and another until he can’t hear his heartbeat in his ears. Hermione smiles at him, and he tries to smile back.

“It’ll pass.”

Potter takes a small step forward, and holds his hand out, which Draco takes, and is helped to his feet. He takes another breath, and it takes a moment to realize that Potter is still holding onto his hand.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Friends are there when their friends need them.”

The first time it happens, Draco and Potter are wandering through the castle, about three months after the Howler. The two strolled in a comfortable silence, neither of them needing to speak during their walks. Draco was so used to being confined to specific sections of the mansion back home, and having the ability to be curious was something he’d started to take for granted. 

The two paused at a pillar, looking out towards the courtyard, the moonlight shining on the stone carvings and decorated hedges. Potter sighed, and Draco felt at ease. Knowing that Potter was content was enough for him. Everything was silent except for natural castle noises, when footsteps echoed from the beginning of the hallway. Both boys froze. Draco motioned for Potter to remain quiet as he grabbed his arm, and yanked him up the hallway.

He searched desperately, not wanting to be found by any teacher, and when he stumbled upon the first door in the corridor, he ducked inside, pulling Potter in after him. 

Draco held his breath, his ear against the door as he focused on where the footsteps were passing. Potter was breathing quickly behind him, and he was quickly getting louder. Draco looked back him annoyed, and mouthed for him to be quiet, and turned back towards the door. 

The room itself was not quite a room, more of a storage closet, probably for Mr. Filch. There was hardly enough room for one person, let alone two, and Draco and Potter were standing almost shoulder to shoulder. Draco could feel Potter shaking. He was starting to hyperventilate. 

He turned back to Potter, raising his eyebrows at him, and saw that Potter had sunk to the floor, his hands over his head. Confused, Draco listened at the door for another few moments, hearing that the footsteps had passed to the adjoining hallway and he turned back to Potter. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, dropping to his knees the best he could. He wanted to reach out to Potter, considering he always did the same when the situation was in reverse, but he knew his touch would not be welcome. “Look at me.” Potter kept his face pressed into his legs, his body quivering, gasping and now Draco reached out, placing his head on Potter’s knee. “Hey, Scarhead, c’mon look at me.” He kept his voice light, a slight tease. Potter reluctantly lifted his head, and he sniffed, his eyes wet and his cheeks red. His lips were parted, and Draco couldn’t help but notice that his lips were chapped, and bags were slowly making their home under his eyes.  _ Must not be sleeping well either.  _ “Focus on my voice,” Draco said, trying to distract him, and he moved Potter’s hand to rest on his own chest, “Breathe with me.” Draco remembered the technique well, his mother using it on him on the bad nights back home. 

Potter looked confused, and almost pulled his hand away, but Draco’s grip was form, and he slowly began to reset his breathing, matching the pace with Draco’s. He blinked, and pulled his hand back to wipe at his face. He still hadn’t spoken. 

“Are you okay?” Potter took a minute to compose himself, and shook his head. 

“Tight,” was all he could say at first, causing Draco to raise his eyebrows in confusion. “Small space.” Draco tried to piece it all together. 

“Are you claustrophobic?” Potter shook his head again. 

“My bedroom,” he started, and Draco remained silent, urging Potter to take his time, “with my aunt and uncle- it was a cupboard.”

Draco tensed. “Those muggles kept you in a closet?” He could feel anger bubbling in his stomach, wanting to lash out at these horrible people, but he remained still. 

“Would lock me in there,” Potter continued, and Draco was happy to hear that he was regaining his composure. His voice didn’t sound as weak now. “It was under the stairs.”

Draco stood up and slowly opened the door, peering out to find the hallway abandoned. He didn’t hear anymore footsteps so he held onto Potter’s arm once more, helping him to his feet. He brushed dust off of Potter shoulders. He didn’t let go of his arm, and Potter made no move to dismiss him either. 

“They’d-” Potter tries again, but pauses and Draco tugs him closer inadvertently, a few inches away from a hug. “-I can’t.”

Draco understands, and pats Potter’s arm as he drops it to his side. He feels cold. “Let’s go back.”   


Potter nods, and the two walk in silence once more, but this time, there are words unsaid. 

 

* * *

Draco tried to ignore how Potter seems to pull away from him. He stops initiating walks, and Draco stops in turn. 

He can’t wrap his head around why the trio seems to keep him around anyways. Hermione walks with him to breakfast. He studies (and gripes about homework) with Weasley. He’s not being completely pushed away, but he’s not being pulled close either. He’s standing on the edge of friendship, and all he wants to do is fall forward. He wants to be close to them. He finds himself drawn to them. 

 

He’s alone with his thoughts. The room is too dark, the silence in the room deafening.  _ You good for nothing- how dare you do this to your family? You promised!  _ It when he feels himself beginning to shake that Draco finally gets himself out of bed. He sighs quietly, and slips on shoes and a jacket. He stops at the door for a moment, debating on whether or not to try to wake up Potter, but remembering how exhausted he had seemed the last time, he decides against it. He can go on with his life without boy wonder dominating his thoughts. He takes great care to be quiet as he shuts the door behind him, and sneaks through the common room. 

Despite being placed in Gryffindor, Draco likes to think that he still has some Slytherin blood within him. He’s able to creep through the hallways with relative ease, save for ducking into corners when the occasional teacher comes into view. 

He finds himself in front of the immeasurable amount of stairs, and takes the first to his right. He slowly begins climbing, and it’s only when he’s about halfway up that it begins to change direction. He looks back towards the landing. Three beams.  _ Unlucky _ . He holds onto the railing, waiting for the stairs to stop before climbing up the rest of the way. 

He’s not walking for much longer before a chill settles over him, and he wraps his jacket tighter to his body. He sighs, seeing his breath in the air. He continues on, his footsteps quiet on the stone floor before he stops himself abruptly. Someone was talking. Snape. The words were too far away to be distinct, but Draco immediately shoved himself towards the wall, ducking behind the stone wall and pillars. As the voice came closer, Draco realized it was not one person, but two. Quirrel. 

“Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid’s yet?” Snape’s voice sounded especially insidious, not at all the monotone that Draco had come to recognize. He pressed his palm to his mouth, keeping as quiet as he possibly could. 

“B-b-but Severus, I-” Quirrel stuttered over his words, but Draco thought, even without his impairment, he’d be stuttering nonetheless. He realized belatedly that he had climbed up three flights of stairs. He was in the third floor corridors. 

“You don’t want me as your enemy, Quirrel,” said Snape, taking a step towards him. 

“I-I think it likes mu-music.” Snape’s voice had dropped, and without moving closer, Draco couldn't hear what else was being said. He took this as a chance, backing away from the pillar, and moving over to the next corridor, desperate to put some space between him and the professors. 

It was when he stumbled upon a locked door that his curiosity peaked. With a quick Alohomora, he entered the room, turning to shut it silently. He turned back to the room, finding that he was not alone, as an enormous dog sat before him, its three heads all sound asleep, its snores echoing off the stone walls. 

“What the-” he managed, seeing the dog beginning to rouse itself from sleep. He stared at the floor, a wooden plank peeking underneath one of its paws, and he thrust himself out of the room before sprinting towards the stairwell, finding himself more and confused and frightened than when he had started. 

 

* * *

Draco wakes up early the following morning, struggling to keep himself awake as he tries to rub sleep out of his eyes. The sunlight is shining bright through the window nearest his bed, and he distantly hears the other four boys rustling through the room. 

“Sleep well?” Dean teases as he sees Draco attempting to stifle a yawn but fail. Draco glares at him, chucking a pillow in his direction that he dodges quickly. 

“So quick, perhaps you should try out for Quidditch, Thomas.” 

Draco forces himself out of bed, scrubbing a hand over his face as he searches for something to wear. Thoughts of the night before were left temporarily forgotten with the only concern on his mind being breakfast. 

It was at breakfast however, that the thoughts of last night rush back to the forefront of his mind. 

Snape was moving up the aisles of the Great Hall, his body off balance with his black cloak billowing out behind him. Potter’s eyebrows pinched together as his gaze follows the man to where he takes his seat at the staff table. 

“Did you see?” he says, staring for another moment before turning back to the other three, “his leg?” Weasley shrugs, Hermione pausing her eating to pay more attention.

“He appears to be in pain. He’s paler than usual.” She goes to point, but stops herself, opting to nod her head. “Look at his cheeks and eyes. Sunken.” Draco remains silent, unsure if it’s his place to speak up before giving in. 

“I heard him talking to Quirrel last night,” he begins, and ignores the flash of heat in his face when Potter looks towards him. 

“Last night?” Weasley asks, looking suspicious. “You snuck out?” Draco nodded. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, but is cut off again by Weasley. 

“You do this often, do you?” he interrogates, and Draco takes a breath, keeping himself quiet as Weasley works himself up. Potter rests a hand against his shoulder. Despite being somewhat in the group, Draco finds himself constantly trying to prove himself to Weasley. And Weasley makes no attempts to accept Draco fully. 

“Yes, I do actually. Keeps me calm,” he says cooly, not taking Weasley’s bait, and ignores the anxiety that settles in his abdomen. He far too tired for a fight this morning. He stops himself from continuing to speak, turning back to his breakfast as Potter whispers to Weasley. Hermione elbows him gently. 

“Just ignore him,” she says, glaring at Weasley from the side, “His family may have been on the quote-unquote “good side” of the war, but all sides still hold their prejudices.” Draco looks down at his plate for a moment. “What was Snape saying to Quirrel?” Grateful for Hermione’s conversation starter, he rehashes the events of the previous night, mentioning the beast he came into contact with. 

“It could be the same one Snape was referring to, but I’m not entirely sure,” Draco explains to a captivated Hermione and Potter, and he finds that Weasley finally decided to listen in as well. “It was standing on something. It was dark, but it was definitely something wooden.”

“Like a plank?” Potter asked. Draco shrugged. 

“I don’t know. It was flat. A door?” Hermione pondered this. “You guys seem close to the giant. Has he let anything else slip lately?” Potter looks like he wants to speak, but the expression on Weasley’s face shows that he’s keeping quiet for his sake. Draco exhales, frustrated. “Have anything to add Weasley? I’m trying to involved, not push people away.” Weasley stays silent. 

“No,” Hermione finally says, and she turns to glare at Weasley who has huffed under his breath. “Keeping information from him is going to do no good for any of us.” It’s Draco’s turn to let himself be confused.

“What exactly is it that you guys have been up to lately?” Hermione laughs beside him, leaving Draco to wonder what he said that was funny, when the screech of owls fills the hall. A couple of letters fall to Weasley’s lap, a letter falling into Potter’s, and one to Draco. He picks it up cautiously, looking at it as if ready to run any moment, but there is no time warning on the letter. It’s not specifically addressed from his father or his mother, so he doesn’t know what to make of the contents inside, and so he tucks it away, ready to forget it. He looks up at Potter to see him smiling down at the note in his hands. He lowers it for a moment and Draco can see a messy scrawl of a handwriting filling the page, and he can’t make out many of the words. 

“Hagrid’s invited us all for tea this afternoon,” Potter says, setting the letter on the table. Weasley picks up the note and looks it over. 

“ _ All _ ?” Hermione sighs. Weasley ignores her. “Don’t see Malfoy mentioned.”

“Are you going to continue to be an arrogant prat or are you going to lighten up and see that Draco can possibly help us with this?” Hermione exclaims, pulling the letter from Weasley’s hands. “And if you haven’t noticed, it doesn’t say any of our names, so shut it.” Draco smiles, but wonders in the back of his mind if Weasley will ever fully warm up to him. Hermione hands the note back to Potter, and shushes Weasley when he looks like he’s going to keep whining.

“Come with us Malfoy,” Potter says, his voice stilted, and Draco forces a smile to his face. It was gonna take some time. 

 

* * *

 

The group found Hagrid sitting outside his tiny house, his giant figure holding a fife as he played a high pitched tune. Hearing the footsteps, Hagrid looked up, smiling, though faltering just a bit when his gaze fell upon Draco. He recovered quickly, and Draco elected to pretend that he hadn’t seen anything. 

“Come in, come in. I’ve jus’ put on some tea.”

“Should I just-”

The trio walks in first, leaving Draco to stand at the threshold of the doorway, and he wonders how they’d react if he simply turned and walked away, leaving them to their adventure. Hermione looks over to him, and gives him a smile and a nod, and it’s enough for Draco to prepare himself as he steps through. Potter and Weasley have taken seats at the table, and so Draco sits beside Hermione. Hagrid sets a tea tray in front of them to help themselves, and he sees Hagrid whisper something to Potter that makes him smile. 

Everyone slowly sips their tea in silence, and Draco is confused. Weren’t they also here to get answers? He decides to break the silence. 

“What’s on the third floor?”  _ Start off with an easy question.  _ Or at least what he thought was an easy question; not to Hagrid however who damn near chokes on his tea. Draco considers asking again before Hagrid collects himself and speaks. 

“The third-” he begins, coughing slightly. “Nothin’. There’s nothin’.” Draco sets down his tea cup and fixes a stern look to his face, shaking his head.  _ Sometimes, it was easier to just let his Malfoy nature take over.  _

“There’s no point in being delicate when I already know otherwise,” he begins, and see the trio looking at him with wide eyes. “I know there’s some sort of beast. I saw something. I heard Snape. So what is it? Looked like some sort of dog.”

“I-,” Hagrid stutters, and Draco knows he’s gotten through. He feels similar to Snape for a moment, reducing a man to a stuttering mess, and he looks to the trio for help. “I’m not s’pposed to say. It’s between Dumbledore an’-” Draco cocks his head to the side, and resists tsking his tongue. He goes to open his mouth around another question when he’s interrupted. 

“Between Dumbledore and who?” Surprisingly, it’s Weasley who’s interrupted. Hagrid shakes his head and stands, attempting to face around his small den. 

“I’ve invited yeh fer tea, not fer questionin’,” he says, frustrated, and he looks one step away from throwing up his hands. “The stone and Fluffy are none of yer bus’ness.” Hermione looks confused. 

“Stone?” 

“That thing has a name?” Draco finds himself asking aloud, and he turns away for a moment. Hagrid’s eyes have gone wide, and he begins muttering under his breath, walking towards the window. 

“What stone?” Potter pressed, and Hagrid doesn’t respond, simply keeps muttering to himself. Potter stands, and moves towards Hagrid. “Are you alright?” he asks gently, and places on hand on Hagrid’s arm, comforting him. “I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to upset you.” Hagrid takes a breath. 

“I know, yer jus’ curious kids,” he finally turns back to the group, “bu’ this is dangerous, Flamel wouldn’ want-” Hagrid cuts himself off, and Hermione stares at him, the gears working in her fast mind, and it clicks into place. She looks to Draco for confirmation. They’d got what they needed. Hagrid sees the exchange. 

“No, no, I shouldn’ta said tha.” Draco stands fast, his mind racing, as the others clean up their cups, Hagrid’s stuttering over himself.

“Thanks for the tea Hagrid,” Weasley says, quickly, the four of them rushing out of the cottage as Hagrid calls after them. 

* * *

It’s a day later before he opens the letter his parents had sent him. He enlists Hermione to help him, and was able to brace himself together as he rips open the envelope.

 

_ Draco.  _

_ Come home for Christmas. There is much to talk about. Don’t bother sending word back. _

_ Lucius. _

 

Draco, finding he had been holding his breath, trembling as he handed Hermione the note. He watched as she read through the short message, looking as though her mind was moving a mile a minute. 

“Well, good news,” she began, and Draco couldn’t help but smile at her optimism, “he doesn’t sound incredibly angry. After all, he’s invited you home.” Draco shrugged, but pointed at the note. 

“He’s never signed as  _ Lucius _ before,” he says, sounding small, “it’s always been  _ Father _ .” Despite trembling, Draco had accepted his fate, had accepted it the second the hat had cried out to the Great Hall that a Malfoy was in Gryffindor. Hermione reached out and grabbed Draco’s hand, and he took another deep breath. 

“I’m writing Mother back.” Hermione nodded, dropping his hand as Draco stood. He paused. “Thank you.” Hermione smiled. 

“You don’t have to thank me, Draco. We’re friends. Friends are there when their friends need them.”

 

* * *

 

_ Mother,  _

_ Hope all is well. Hope Father is treating you right. I’ve received word that I am to be back home for Christmas- _

  
Draco is cut off as Potter enters the common room. They’re the only two students there, the others having gone to bed, or begun packing for the winter holidays. They hadn’t been alone in weeks. 

“Hey,” is all Draco says, his lips pursed slightly as he attempts to finish writing his letter. To his surprise, Potter sits beside him at the table, leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed. He wants to say something; he hasn’t spoken to Potter directly, and he wants to enjoy his company. 

“Hey,” Potter says, and exhales. He opens his eyes and points towards the paper in front of him. “Writing home?” Draco nods. 

“Father sent a letter saying that I could come home for Christmas,” he says, reaching into his pocket to pull out the original note, and passes it to Potter, who reads it quickly. “He’s going to disown me.”

Potter is silent for a moment. “You shouldn't have to be dealing with this,” he says softly. Draco is hit with the realization that Potter seems so much older than he should. “A father should love his son, not intimidate him.” Draco nods his head in agreement, and rubs a hand over his face. 

“Well, he’s a Malfoy. It’s all he knows.” Potter looks over at him, and Draco holds his gaze. He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” Draco doesn’t want to think about his father. Christmas was two weeks away; he’d ignore it until the last possible minute. “Going home for Christmas.” Potter shakes his head almost immediately. 

“Oh, no, no. Even if I was allowed, I wouldn’t want to.” Draco simply stared.

“You’re not allowed back home?” he questions, and then drops his voice to close to a whisper, “it is because of those bloody muggles?” Potter nods. “So, where are you gonna go?” Potter gestures to the room around him. 

“Here. Hogwarts. Students do that sometimes, right?” 

“Well, yeah, but-” Draco feels sad all of a sudden, his own problems pushed aside, “You shouldn’t spend Christmas alone. What about Weasley?”

“Going home. He’s invited me to join him, but they’re already a large family.” Potter looks down at the floor. “Wouldn’t want to be a burden or anything.”

“Come to mine then.” Draco speaks without thinking, but he doesn’t recant his statement. Potter looks up at him quizzically. 

“You mean, at the Manor?” Draco nods. “I don’t know… I don’t want to be in the way.” Draco scoffs. 

“The manor’s huge. You could never be in the way. And even if the manor was small, I’d still invite you. You shouldn’t be alone.” Potter looks at him again, and Draco fidgets under his gaze. There’s something in his eyes, something sad, and Draco just wants him to be happy, if only for one holiday. “I’ll write Mother. I’d be able to get through to her better than Father now.” Potter remains still and silent before he finally smiles. 

“Alright. I’ll you allow me, then I’ll come.” Draco grins at him, going back to his letter. 

 

_ \- I’m anxious about coming home.  _

_ I have a question for you. Potter has nowhere to spend Christmas, and I’ve invited him home. Would it be possible you could convince Father to allow him? I don’t want him to be alone on Christmas. _

_ I miss you,  _

_ Draco _

 

Draco sets the letter aside, and allows himself to listen the sounds of the castle. He can hear water hitting against the rocks of the cliff, and it mingles nicely with the crackle of the fire in the hearth. And he can hear Potter, dozing quietly in his chair, his breath exhaling in short bursts with just the slight hint of a snore. It feels like months since Draco was able to sit with Potter, and he hates to admit that he misses the company. For as much as he likes Hermione and what they have in common, he finds her to be a bit overbearing at times. With Potter, companionship was becoming as easy as breathing. 

“Hey,” he whispers, but Potter hears him, looking up and over at him. 

“Yeah?” he says, a yawn escaping as he covers it up. 

Draco just wants to know. “Why did you-” he begins, but is confused about what to ask, “Did I do something to push you away?” He doesn’t say anything, but he looks ashamed as he takes in Draco’s question. 

“I, um, I don’t know.” Draco looked confused, “I’ve never really met someone like you before. You’re honest, almost to a fault, but compassionate.” Potter looked down, his hands shaking. “I know it’s dumb, but...I was afraid. It’s easy to be friends with you, and it was gonna make it harder when you left.” Draco shifted in his seat. 

“‘When I leave?’ I’m not going anywhere.” He couldn’t help but find himself confused. “I don’t understand you.”

“Anybody who’s cared about me has left in some capacity. Mum, dad. Any friend I was able to make back home would be move on, and I’d be alone. And then you came along, and Ron, and Hermione, and I was afraid to lose you. This is the first time I’m able to be a kid, and being frightened made me isolate myself, and I’m sorry.”

Draco was surprise at how candid Potter was being, and it made him sad to see this side of him. The Potter he had met in Diagon Alley was curious, wide-eyed, awestruck. And while the boy was still curious, he was tired, the effects of domestic life sitting just over his shoulder, ready to strike him at any moment. 

“It feels like I’m walking on glass sometimes. There’s so much that I don’t know about this world that you do, and it’s all so overwhelming when the voices in your head tell you that everything ends.” Potter looked so vulnerable, curled in his chair as he spoke, so Draco stood, moving Potter to a stand before pulling him into a hug. Potter’s arm hung at his side, but he soon returned the hug, a tight embrace where neither boy wanted to be the first to break it. Draco forced his anxious thoughts away from his mind.Potter’s voice spoke quietly next to his ear. 

“Thank you.” Hermione’s words echoed back through his mind. “ _ Friends are there when their friends need them.” _

* * *

His mother responded fast.

_ Darling,  _ _   
_ _ I’m not sure how good of an idea it would be to have Potter in our house, but if he’s your friend, then he’s a friend of mine. I’ll break the news to father. Don’t worry love.  _

_ Sleep well sweetheart,  _

_ Mother. _

* * *

Draco’s passed out in the library. Again. He can’t sleep in his bed. He doesn’t know if he can keep sleeping like this.

“-you heard what Hagrid said about the stone. He’s given us all that we need.”

Hermione’s voice cuts through his dreamless sleep, and Draco sighs quietly.  _ No more rest, I guess. _

“Something about Nicholas Flamel?” There was a slight ruffling noise. 

“Yeah, but I can’t find anything about him. I don’t even know who he is.” Draco sighs again, and picks his head up from the table, clearing his throat. The whispers around him cease. 

“He was an alchemist,” Draco yawned, waiting for the trio to question him but was met with silence. He rubs at his eyes.

“An alchemist?” Weasley finally says, and Draco found that he sounded genuinely curious. 

“It was a philosophy, a type of sorcery. They would try to turn metals into gold, find ways to prolong life.” Potter looked on the verge of understanding, and Weasley looked over him. The three boys jumped in shock however as Hermione jumped up, disappearing into the large bookshelves, only to emerge a few minutes later with a large tome in her hands. 

“The Philosopher’s stone,” she said as she flipped through the rather large pages. “It’s his stone. Nicholas Flamel’s stone.” Draco looked back and forth between Potter and Weasley, spying the confused looks on their faces, but kept silent. He watched as the two of them put together pieces of a puzzle that they couldn’t even begin to fathom. “That’s got to be what the beast is hiding.”

“Well then,” Draco said, and Potter and Weasley turned towards him, “What’s our next move?”

“Our?” He should have expected Weasley’s response, but chose to ignore him. 

“We have to get the stone,  _ before _ Snape. He’s still trying to get to it. He’s already got the advantage of time.” Hermione nodded along with him, and Draco could see understanding blossoming on Potter’s face, but Weasley fixed him with a glare. 

“We’re not doing anything.” Weasley muttered, sliding his books into his bag, and leaving the library, Potter reluctantly following after him with a sympathetic look on his face. 

* * *

With the beginning of Christmas, the dorms find themselves in disarray as students begin packing for the holidays. Draco’s been sitting on his bunk, listening to Seamus go on and on for an hour about the time he set fire to his kitchen on Christmas eve, burning the dinner and forcing his family to buy take-out. The “best Christmas” he calls it. Dean regales the group with a story of how his parents once left him in Morocco on Christmas and he had to stay in a hostel for several hours waiting for his father. Draco doesn’t quite believe the anecdote. 

Draco finds himself feeling at ease surrounded by his dorm mates. The thoughts of Christmas have left him feeling light, and he watches as Potter packs away some clothes into his trunk. It’s only just sinking in that Potter is going to be at the manor for two weeks. 

Weasley was headed home for the holidays as well with the promise to write to Potter, Hermione doing the same. 

“Have a happy Christmas Harry,” Hermione wraps him up in a hug, before shaking hands with Weasley. Hermione turns to Draco, who seems a bit taken aback when she too pull him into a hug. 

“Take care of yourself Draco,” she says softly, holding him for a just a moment longer before pulling back. The rest of the friends say their goodbyes before heading off on their separate ways. 

 

The manor is a lot bigger than anything Potter expected. He found himself once again awestruck as Draco led the way to the front door. 

“My mother will probably be awkward. I don’t think she’s used to me bringing friends over,” Draco is saying, last minute preparations before they enter. “Father could go either way. He’ll either be angry, or he won’t speak to either of us. Let’s hope for the latter.” Potter nods absently, falling behind slightly. Draco continues forward a bit before turning back to him. “What’s wrong Scarhead? Cold feet?” Potter laughs, jogging to catch back up. 

“Just overwhelmed.” Draco finds himself smiling despite himself. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

“Let’s see if you’ll still be thanking me in a day or two,” Draco says, before correcting himself, “Thanks for saying yes.”

Soon, the two of them reach the mansion, Narcissa opening the door before they even had the chance to knock. Potter is taken back by her appearance. He’s reminded of the elegant women in Aunt Petunia’s day time television. Her high cheekbones and greying hair gave her a noble look. Potter wasn’t sure if he should shake her hand or bow. 

“Hello,” he said, feeling and sounding small, yet Narcissa gives him a smile, reaching out her hand for him to shake. 

“Hello Mr. Potter,” she responds, dropping his hand. “Thank you for joining us for Christmas.” Potter nods and Narcissa turns towards her son, pulling him into a quick hug. Draco sunk against her, his eyes closed. 

“Hello darling,” Potter heard her say, and he takes a step back to give them privacy. “How are you?”

“Anxious. How is Father?” Narcissa pursed her lips for a moment. 

“He’s…” she struggles to find the right words, but settles for a blunt explanation, “He’s angry.” Draco shudders, and pulls away from his mother.

“Is he-” He takes in a deep breath, “Is he going to disown me?” Narcissa shakes her head.

“I don’t know love. I’m trying to keep his emotions at bay. You know how he is.” Draco nods, and looks back at Potter. Narcissa understands. “Why don’t we all go inside? We’ll call for you when dinner is ready.” 

Draco elbows Potter, motioning for him to follow. Potter can tell that Draco is rushing, most likely to keep away from his father, and he hurries to follow. The two run up the stairs and into the third room on the left, Draco’s room.

What didn’t surprise Potter was that the room was painted in different shades of green and silver.  _ May have been adopted into Gryffindor, but born a Slytherin.  _ What did surprise Potter was the fact that it was so sparse. The main pieces of furniture in the room were only a small bed that Draco had placed in the corner, a dresser, and a small nightstand. 

“What?” Draco said, breaking through Potter’s thoughts, “Did you expect me to live like a prince?”

“I just wouldn’t have thought it would be so barren.” Potter turned around the room to make sure he truly wasn’t missing anything. No posters on the wall, not even a bookshelf. Draco shrugged despite himself, and resisted the urge to wring his hands. 

“Is it alright?” he asked nervously, looking down at his shoes. He would never not be surprised that Potter could bring out emotions in him that he had thought he had repressed. Potter turned back to him and grinned. 

“Absolutely,” he said, and Draco knew he was being genuine, “Much better than a cupboard.” Draco’s smile faltered for a moment before Potter laughed, and tension eased away. The two of them set their trunks down against the wall, feeling at ease in each other’s presence. 

 

The feeling didn’t last much longer, however, as a voice rang out through the hall, calling them down. Lucius Malfoy. 

Draco immediately jumped up from his spot on the bed, always the obedient son, and made his way down the stairs, Potter following closely behind. Stopping at the landing, Draco spun around, stopping Potter. 

“Don’t speak unless he speaks to you first. Don’t touch anything.” Draco was quick to explain and Potter was quick to follow. 

“Should I call him ‘sir’?” Potter teased, but seeing the somber look blossoming over Draco’s voice, he remained silent, mimicking Draco as they made their way down the stairs. 

Lucius Malfoy stood in the foyer of the mansion, his arms set behind his back like that of a general, and Potter was overcome with the sense of dread. He commanded authority over the room simply by standing before them, and Potter wanted to run. Instead, he stood quietly beside Draco. 

“Mr. Potter,” Lucius said first, and Potter could see Draco shoot him a look out of his peripheral. He remained silent, waiting for Lucius to continue. Lucius was talking through his teeth, as if it were a struggle to even speak to the boys in front of him. “Welcome to the manor.” Lucius held out his hand for Potter to shake, and he did so with only slight hesitation. Potter didn’t believe his “sincerity”, but did not voice his skepticism. Lucius turned to his son.

“And thank you for so graciously welcoming Potter into our household.” Draco held eye contact, afraid of the consequences of breaking it. He nodded, a simply gesturing of his head. Even with his heart thumping in his chest, Potter remained still, and he could tell Draco was attempting to do the same. 

“Thank you for having me, Mr. Malfoy,” Potter said, keeping his voice even. Lucius looked between the two boys, his eyes dark. Anxious that he had spoken out of turn, he chanced a glance at Draco, who’s expression had not changed. He was scared at what he saw; nothing on his face, no story to be told. He was unreadable. Lucius ignored him.

“We will be having guests tonight. You are to be respectful.” He fixed his gaze on Potter specifically. “Respectful.” Potter nodded, and while Lucius did not look pleased, he looked satisfied. “You are to dress the part, nothing wretched or dilapidated. If you have nothing, I’m sure my son will help you to find something suitable.”

“Yes, father.” Lucius observed Draco once more, before waving his hand dismissively at Potter. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to have a word with my son.” Potter made a move to head back up the stairs, looking back once to give Draco a look of encouragement before he made his way back. 

 

Without Potter next to him in the foyer, Draco kept his composure quickly splintering under the scrutiny of his father. He kept his face as inscrutable as much as he could as his father spoke to him again. 

“I know your mother has intercepted letters,” he began, and Draco felt himself going numb, like he was looking down on the scene from a different perspective. “She’s always getting in the way now, trying to tamper the tension.” His father had begun to pace, and Draco’s breathing was becoming erratic. “Where did she have to send the letters? To W- somewhere in Hogsmeade?” Draco opened his mouth to answer but could not find his voice. He didn’t want to betray his mother’s trust. Lucius glared at him. 

“I know you’ve not gone deaf in the last few months,” Lucius scowled, “Where?” Draco remained silent once more, and his father raised his hand. “ _ Where _ ?” Draco shook his head, and pain shot through his face as his father backhanded him. Any composure Draco was able to muster was extinguished as he fell to the floor, one hand desperately grasping at his face while the other held him upright. 

“How dare you,” his father spat, and Draco felt tears on his cheeks and a sob in his throat as his father stood above him, “How  _ dare _ you invite that creature into my house? How  _ dare _ you bring shame to this family?” Draco hid his face away from his father, pulling his knees up to his chest. His father yanked him upright, so that was standing in front of him once more. “You are no son of mine. Potter, of all people? In my house?” Lucius turned away from his son, and Draco allowed himself to tremble out of his father’s gaze. “You’ve heard the whispers, and you still do this.”

“He had nowhere else to go-” Draco was cut off with a wand pointed in his face, and he took a step back. 

“You have absolutely no right to speak in this house. If it weren’t for your mother, you never would have been allowed to pass the threshold.” Lucius took a deep breath. “Wipe your tears. You  _ disgrace _ .” Draco frantically ran his hands over his face before pushing them through his hair. “First, you bring that boy,  _ that _ boy, of all people into my house, and have the audacity to act as if you’ve been accepted back into my good graces.”

Draco could barely hear his father speaking, his ears ringing and his body shaking. “I-it doesn’t matter anymore.  _ He’s  _ gone.” His father swung backwards, and Draco felt himself being propelled back, coming to a stop when he hit the stairwell. He heaved over, air leaving his lungs, and he desperately tried to suck in a breath. 

“Get out,” his father barked, cruelty dripping from his lips. “You are no son of mine,  _ GET OUT _ .” Draco dragged himself to his feet, his body aching at him to stop, and he scampered out of the foyer, his mother waiting from him on the other side of the door. 

“Oh darling, no,” she shushed, Draco clutching at her like a life force as he weeped into her shoulder - “What has he done to you?” - He could hear his father’s footsteps disappearing, and held tight to his mother, - “If you want to go back to Hogwarts, I’d understand, but only after,” - and let himself break.    
  


When Draco finally made his way back to his room, he found Potter slumped on the floor nearest the door, curled up, and when his eyes landed on Draco, he jumped to his feet. 

“Malfoy, I-” but Draco cut off his with a wave of his hand, before stopping himself. He turned towards the dresser, pulling out bits of clothing and tossing them in Potter’s direction. “Hey, talk to me.” 

Draco didn’t respond, and simply began to pull himself together, changing into dinner clothes, Potter standing in a corner, confused. 

“I’m sorry,” was all Potter could say, but Draco refused to look at him, fearful he’d hate himself even more if he did. Potter stepped forward, catching Draco’s arm, and finally Draco stopped, turning to look at him. Potter’s lip quivered. 

“Did he…?” Potter whispered. Draco looked towards the floor, and pressed a finger to where his lip had split before nodding his head. 

“I don’t-” Draco muttered, Potter holding up by the shoulders. Draco thought for a moment that Potter was going to hug, but he held him at arms length, as if Potter was trying to steady him. That was just not something they would - or should - do. Draco presses his hands to his eyes.  _ He wouldn’t cry again.  _ He inhales sharply, tears evident in his voice. “Mother says we can go back, back to Hogwarts after tonight.” Potter nodded in agreement. 

“It’ll be alright,” Potter said, but Draco couldn’t find it in himself to agree, and found himself reluctant to pulled away from Potter. He said nothing, simply choosing to gaze sadly at Potter. He wiped at his eyes.

“Let’s just get through dinner.” He pulled on the last bit of clothes, Potter standing there muddled. “ _ Please _ ?”

 

His father did not speak to him through dinner. In fact, none of the guests spoke to him either. The news of his actions had spread to the rest of them, and they ignored him from conversation, none of them asking if he was alright. He’s familiar with a fair amount of them, the Goyles with their son, Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson with Pansy, and recognizes several of his father’s associates, if not by name, then by appearance. Draco and Potter look rather out of place at the dinner table, and keep to themselves for the night. 

Draco couldn’t help but notice that Potter was getting looks all night, could hear Pansy and Gregory whispering about Him, could see Potter getting more and more agitated as the night went on. The longer they remained in his father’s presence, they more the conversation turned to politics, to the whispers, and Draco couldn’t stand it. 

“C’mon,” he whispers, and gestures for Potter to follow him. Grateful, he does, and Draco leads them through the house to the library before shutting and locking the door behind them. “Finally, some peace and quiet.” The two of them stood for a moment, Potter taking in the sight of all the books and Draco smiling at his awe. He sat himself in one of the armchairs near the fireplace, and sighed loudly. Potter sat in the armchair across from his, wrapping his arms around himself as though he were cold. 

The two sat in silence, both unsure of what the other was thinking. All Draco wanted to do was get away, away from his house and father, but the thought of leaving his mother behind to fend for herself was excruciating. After all she had done for him already, and he wanted to leave. What kind of son was he?

“Hey,” Potter said, and while Draco was grateful for his interruption, he knew Potter would be asking what was on his mind, and he couldn’t find it in himself to voice it all.

“Let’s not talk about earlier,” Draco said, a pleading edge to his voice, and Potter understood. The two fell back into silence before Draco finally said something. 

“Why are you friends with Weasley?” It’s a question that’s been on his mind since he’d been sorted. The boy was abrasive, downright rude at times, dim-witted, selfish, whereas Potter was compassionate about others, emotional. Draco thought it to be an understandable question, but Potter turned on him, clearly bothered by the accusation. 

“He asks the same about you, you know,” Potter says shortly, moving to stand up and move towards the fireplace. Draco goes to speak, but Potter does before he gets the chance, “I know what you’re thinking; that’s he’s a bit-”

“Dim-witted?” Potter glares at him, but exhales. 

“Narrow-minded.” Potter seems to glaze over for a moment, staring off at nothing as he collects his thoughts. “We met at the station, the first person I saw who was going to Hogwarts. And then he sat with me on the train, and we just clicked.” Draco nods his head despite not understanding. Simply talking once on the train doesn’t mean anything. 

“I know he seem rude at times, and I think he knows too,” Potter continues, “He’s suspicious of you.” Draco frowns at that. “Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Potter pauses before going to sit in the armchair once more. He’s silent, and Draco tries to understand. 

“I’m different from my family.” Potter sighs, and Draco notices just how tired he sounds, like he already has the weight of the world on his shoulder. And yet he still smiles.

“I know that, but Ron doesn’t.” Potter looks sheepish before recovering. “Look, I’ve not been part of this world for long, even if-” he cuts himself off  “-even if my parents were. But Ron has, and so has his entire family, as has yours.” Draco begins to understand. 

“So, I’ve got to show him that people can deviate.” Draco knows that he’s not like his father; not entirely. Despite their features matching from the color of his hair to his eyes, they separate personality wise. In another time, Draco could have been abrasive and Machiavellian like his father, but he instead had the heart to be kind. Not born with it, perhaps, but having the ability to develop it. “I’ve already started, haven’t I?” Potter smiles and agrees. 

“Yes, you have,” Potter replies, “He’ll come around.”

“A war can affect any person’s mind. He’s caught in the past, lingering on pain from something that happened before us.” Draco felt stronger, more secure than he had all night, and the look on Potter’s face was enough for Draco to know that he felt the same. “We’ll grow up divergently.” 

A quick and small knock on the door let them know their conversation was over as a house elf entered the room, much to Potter’s bewilderment.

“Mistress Malfoy is looking for you sir,” the creature said, its nasally voice quiet in the large atheneum. Draco nodded at the creature, and followed him out, Potter trailing behind. 

“What is he?” Potter asked, pointing forward. 

“Dobby. Our house elf.” Seeing Potter’s confusion - “I’ll explain later.”

Dobby led them back through the foyer into the massive den, Narcissa arising from her spot on the sofa when they entered. 

“Good, good, thank you,” she said, waving off the creature, turning towards Draco. “Let’s get your trunks ready. Your father has made it very clear to me that he does not wish for the two of you to remain here.” 

Hardly giving time for Draco to asked questions, she ushered them out and upstairs, and quickly helped them to put their trunks together. 

“Mum-” he tried interrupting, watching his mother’s trembling hand wave clothes and belongings into the cases. He reached out, and she lowered her wand with an exhaustive sigh. “Has he done anything to you?” Narcissa shook her head. 

“No love. But as I have no problem with you being here, I’m finding it hard to see you go again so soon.” Draco embraced his mother, and Potter took the moment to step out of the room. Draco was thankful. “You have to leave in the morning.” Narcissa pulled away from her son and took in a deep breath. Draco looked at his mother with sad eyes. 

“Write me. As often as you can.” Narcissa nodded. 

“I will darling.” With another wave of her wand, she packed the rest of the trunks together, and sent them to the floo to rest by the hearth. She turned to go, but paused. “I know father doesn’t approve,” she began, lowering her voice, “but I think Potter is a good influence, and a good friend.” 

She left the room, gesturing that Potter return. Draco watched as her refined frame disappeared down the hall, leaving the room silent and dark.

 

The two boys left quickly the following, Narcissa apologizing to Potter for the short stay.    


“It’s quite alright, Mrs. Malfoy. Thanks for having me at all.” Draco smiled at how formal he was around his mother. Narcissa nodded, shaking his hand. With a quick kiss to the cheek, and another promise of letter-writing, Malfoy and Potter stepped through the floo, and we met by McGonagall on the other side, welcoming them back. 

 

Despite break being cut short for them, they filled their time idly, returning to their routine of wandering the castle at night. When Christmas day arrived, Draco was surprised to find that presents had been sent, and not just to Draco, but to Potter as well. 

“Did your mother do this?” Potter asked, and Draco shrugged, and began opening presents.

Back and forth they went, Draco getting several books and potion ingredients, and Potter getting shirts and little trinkets. It was when Potter read his last gift, and pulled out the cloth that Draco was truly fascinated.

“Potter…” Potter draped the cloth around himself like a cape, not even noticing that the majority of his body had disappeared. “Look!”

“My body’s gone!” Draco stood in front of him, pressing his hand against where Potter’s chest should be. 

“Not gone, just invisible,” he remarked, staring at the cloth in wonderment. “It’s a Invisibility Cloak. They’re incredibly rare.” Potter continued to stare down at himself, a grin etched into his features, and he kept turning in circles as if trying to get a glimpse of his backside. Draco laughed. “You’re looking quite like a dog when you do that, trying to catch your own tail.” Potter scoffed, elbowing Draco in the ribs.

“Doesn’t say who it came from, just ‘use it well’.” 

Draco pondered this for momentarily. “So by ‘use it well’, they mean, ‘we’re totally using this to trek through the castle undetected’, right?” Potter chuckled, and slid the cloak off his shoulders.

“Absolutely.”

 

* * *

 

All too fast, the winter holidays were over, Hermione and Weasley returning from their vacations with news of the adventures. Draco and Potter had decided beforehand to tell the two directly, as there was really no way to hide the bruise that still rested on Draco’s cheek and his lip that did not seem to want to heal in a timely manner. 

“Your father did that to you?” Hermione exclaimed, Draco allowing her to take a closer look. He nodded as she hugged him, a look of concern on her face. 

“The utter monster,” Weasley muttered under his breath, and Draco couldn’t find it in himself not to smile. Weasley looks up and sees Draco grinning at him, and smiles back.  _ Guess the prat still has Christmas spirit with him.  _

“I agree Weasley,” Draco says, going for a teasing tone, “Mother helped us back here though, so not everyone in my house is evil, I guess.” Weasley blanches in embarrassment, but shakes his head in agreement. The conversation moves elsewhere, Potter and Hermione catching up with Dean and Seamus, who apparently went off on holiday together. Draco notices belatedly that Weasley and Potter are wearing similar sweaters. 

“We did go home for a few days, but then we decided to find something to blow up.” Seamus laughs at this, and Hermione and Potter are not entirely sure if they are joking. 

Weasley and Draco are left in the chairs near the armchair. The two sit in an awkward silence, despite the noise around them, and when Weasley gets up out of his armchair and disappears off somewhere else, Draco feels hurt. For a second there, it had seemed that tensions were easing between them. Maybe Potter was wrong, maybe Weasley couldn’t be swayed to see Draco’s perspective. Maybe there really was just no chance of Weasley accepting him in- 

“Come here,” he hears off to his right, and see Weasley standing near the portrait hole, a package in his hands. With eyebrows knitted together, Draco hops out of his chair, and follows Weasley into the corridor outside of the common room. Draco stands, moving back and forth from one foot to the other, waiting for Weasley to speak, who seems to be having trouble finding the words. Draco wonders if he should speak first. Weasley takes in a deep breath, however, and passes him the package. Draco goes to open it, but Weasley stops him. “Hang on.”

Draco can see that he is nervous and uncomfortable, and decides to go easy on the boy. He remains silent. 

“Look, I-” he begins, and takes another breath, “I know how I’ve been acting. Sometimes I can’t stop myself. “ Draco knows better than to try to interject. “Harry told me that he tried to explain...and he also tried to tell me off that I was being too hard.” Draco nodded teasingly, to which Weasley pushed him back laughing. “I know, I know. He’s right.”

Weasley takes a moment to look at Draco’s reaction, and he sees that Weasley is looking for forgiveness. Draco gestures with his head ‘keep going’. Weasley smiles. 

“I have to learn to separate you from your family, because it’s obvious that you are very different. I should have found it obvious long ago and I’m sorry.” Weasley pauses again, and Draco feels as though it is his turn to speak. 

“Weasley, I understand where you’re coming from, I do.” Weasley looks like he’s going pale, so Draco follows up fast. “I forgive you. We both have to work in order to keep a friendship. We have a lot of prejudice to unlearn. And it’s not gonna happen overnight.”

“I agree,” Weasley says, but looks relieved. “We are not our parents.” Draco smiles this time, and shakes his head. 

“We absolutely aren’t. We’ll be better than they ever were.” Weasley is quiet as he takes this in, but he doesn’t look disappointed. He steps forward. 

“Let’s start over. Our last names don’t matter. We’re not tied to them.” He stretches out his hand for Draco to shake. “I’m Ron.”

Draco gives him a smile, and shakes his hand with his free one. “I’m Draco.” The two shake for a moment before dropping their hands. In the silence that follows, Draco goes to open the package but Ron stops him once more. With an exasperated look, Ron takes a step towards the portrait hole. 

“Just- I want you to open it alone.” Draco stares at him confused, but he steps through, leaving him alone in the corridor. It is now that Draco goes for the package one last time, ripping it open to reveal bright red cloth. He shakes it out, holding it back so that he can look at it. A sweater. Like the one that Ron and Potter had been wearing. Emblazoned on the front, the letter “D” embroidered in white yarn. 

He’s taken aback for a moment, not wanting his emotions to get the best of him as he slips the sweater on. He wipes at his face, and gathers himself together, stepping back through the portrait hole.

“Tomorrow night maybe?”

Potter stops talking for a moment as Ron spots him walking in, and gives him a wide smile, mouthing _“Nice sweater”_. 

It’s when he reclaims his armchair that he reads the attached note to the sweater, a small piece of paper with a simple message written. 

 

_ Merry Christmas Draco.  _

_ -MW _

* * *

_ His mother stands above him, a false loving expression on her face that Draco finds repulsive. This wasn’t his mother. She stood with all the poise of an elegant woman, but held the visage of his father. _

_ “Shame of my flesh,” she whispered, her voice twisting and slithering around his head as he is paralyzed on the ground. “Creature of filth.” Draco whimpers, the words sounding foreign from his mother’s tongue. She held out her hand, as if in offering, instead finding a flame erupting from her fingertips. “Look at what you’ve done to us.” _

_ She propells her arm forward, the flame exploding outward, swallowing Draco up in an intense heat -  _

 

\- his scream dying in his throat as he sits upright in bed, choking on his breath. He clears his throat as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake the others in his room. It becomes apparent, however, that this is not the case, as Draco hears whispering from the far beds in the room. 

“Is Hermione going to meet us?” It’s Ron’s voice. He hears what sounds like rummaging through a suitcase before Potter finally speaks up. 

“She should be downstairs already.” The room is quiet again as Draco can only imagine they were pulling on jackets and shoes. “Should we wake- “

“No,” Weasley cuts him off fast, and Potter sighs. Ron is silent, and Draco holds his breath.  _ They’re talking about me.  _ “Let him sleep. He always looks tired nowadays.”

“He could help us. He might even want to come.” Ron doesn’t answer him, and Draco hears them tiptoe towards the door and open it carefully. “Ron?”

“Hmm?”

“He’s not as bad as you think he is.” Ron groans, but there’s no malice behind the sound. 

“I know. I’m trying. He’s different from the other Slytherins.” Draco hears Potter laugh, and Ron shushes him. 

“He’s not a Slytherin at all Ron.” Weasley remains silent, and Draco hears the door close, leaving the room in complete darkness and silence. Draco lays in bed, unmoving, breathing deeply as he wakes himself up. 

Draco stands up, slipping on his jacket and shoes like he’s come to do most nights now. He remembers what Hagrid had said, about how dangerous it could be. He remembers Quirrel’s fearful expression, and his stuttering as Snape interrogated him in the corridors. And he thinks about how angry his father would be if he knew that he was helping the trio.  _ Friends are there when their friends need them. _

He no longer felt on the outside of the group. He had forced his way in, against everything his father would have wanted for him, and found himself free. 

  
And so Draco follows them out of the common room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter took a little while. I'm writing chapter by chapter at the moment. Hopefully, the final chapter of year one will be done by the end of january. 
> 
> you can find me  
> @ohohhpierre on twitter  
> and ohohpierre.tumblr.com
> 
> leave a comment, i love reading those. 
> 
> thanks for sticking with me. 
> 
> -isaiah


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Before them stood a tremendous dog, its size not being its salient feature. Three heads protruded out from its next, and it took Draco a moment before he realized it was- 
> 
> '-snoring.'"

The air tonight felt charged with energy, and Draco knew the castle was preparing itself. He struggled to announce his presence before the group had left the corridor out of fear of being turned away, but he cleared his throat, and that was enough. Hermione turned to him, startled, but Potter looked relieved. 

“Malfoy.” _Not a question._ Potter smiled at him, and Draco found himself returning the gesture before looking towards Weasley, and was pleasantly surprised to find that he looked rather pleased. 

“I’m coming too,” Draco said simply. Weasley nodded, and Draco exhaled shakily. 

The corridors outside the common room were eerily quiet, and it felt the longer the group walked, the less they were having to hide from surveying professors. They felt more alone than they had all year.

“Where is- “Ron whispered, his voice still loud as it vibrated off the stone, and Hermione elbowed him, shushing him as they reached the stairwell. Potter stepped forward, and led the way upwards to the third floor hallway, the four of them moving slowly until they reached an unremarkable wooden door. 

He heard Hermione speak up behind him. “Ron, try it.”

With a quick swish of his wand, Ron pointed at the door, the word “Alohomora” sounding closer to an exhale than actual words, but the door in front of them clicked open. Ron turned around, a satisfied expression on his face, and Hermione smiled. Draco did not know the weight behind the gesture, but nevertheless, he felt relieved. 

Slowly, Potter pushed open the door, it's creak loud. He motioned for them to be silent, and stepped forward, the sound of a harp reaching their ears. 

“What,” Draco whispered, moving to stand next to the harp. He strained his hand forward, and felt the inexplicable tinges of magic sweeping off the stringed instrument. He let his hand fall back, and stared out at the rest of the room before freezing and withdrew quickly to stand near the group. “ _ What _ .”

Before them stood a tremendous dog, its size not being its salient feature. Three heads protruded out from its next, and it took Draco a moment before he realized it was- 

“-snoring,” Potter whispered, again taking a step forward with a courage that Draco did not possess. “Look.” He nodded towards the panel on the floor. 

“The trap door?” Hermione kept her voice low, and Potter shrugged. Ron finally found it within him to speak. 

“How do we get past?” Draco fought the urge to drag Potter back and away from the creature, but the three of them continued talking around him. 

“We can’t just move it,” he heard Hermione say, causing Ron to quip about. 

“I  _ know _ that, so then what? We need some sort of a plan.”

“We don’t even know what’s down there,” Potter said, still standing in front of the creature, his eyes on the floor, his whispered voice still managing to be heard despite the noise of the room. 

“Potter- “ Draco slowly gazed around the room as Hermione and Ron continued to go at each other, and he finally turned his head to the harp in the corner of the room, it’s strings hanging still. Draco once more before finally raising his voice. “ _ Listen _ .”

The two’s argument fell away, leaving the room in silence. Draco looked to the others, and saw recognition in Hermione’s face. “The harp, it’s stopped playing.” Potter turned and immediately gasped as the creature slowly woke itself up, stepping backwards as it yawned and stretched. It took Draco only a moment to shake himself, and he ran forward, yanking open the door on the floor. 

“We gotta go  _ now _ .” He motioned for them, all four quickly jumping through the postern. 

* * *

They landed with a  _ squelch _ , Potter gasping aloud as he patted the  _ stuff _ around them.

“Is- what is -?” They all quickly rose to their feet, but were pulled back as vines wrapped themselves around their torsos. “What is this?” Potter sounded frantic from where Draco had landed, and all four fought against the vines that were slowly trying to squeeze their breaths away. 

“Hermione, do something!” Ron called out, and he grunted as the vines snaked their way up his thighs, tying his feet together. Hermione gave a yelp. 

“I don’t- “ she tried, desperately trying to fish her wand out of her pocket. “I don’t know what- I can’t remember, I can’t remember what to do.”

Draco sat paralyzed, unable to move as the vines made their way to his neck. “ _ Devil’s Snare, _ ” he struggled, his face turning blue. “It’s  _ Devil’s Snare _ Hermione.” She stared back at him, only to watch as he slowly sank into the vines, leaving nothing behind.

“Draco!” he heard Potter yell above him as he landed on a dirt floor with a heavy thud. He coughed, and stood up, stretching his arms above him as he tried to take a breath. He coughed again. 

“I’m fine,” he called back upwards, and his mind went blank as he realized that Potter had used his name. His actual name. He could feel his ears burning, but he refused to acknowledge it. He could still hear the three struggling above them, their voices muffled through the mess. -  _ “It doesn’t like the damp” _ \- He was alone, his body shaking as he wrangled through his mind for the correct enchantment.  _ Devil’s Snare, Devil’s Snare… _

Another thud broke him out of his stupor, and Hermione struggled to her feet next to him. He held out his hand, pulling her up with a hand on her elbow, and she dusted off her skirt. Potter followed shortly after, groaning as he laid on the floor, his glasses cracked. He reached upward, and Draco grabbed his hand, helping him to his feet as well. 

“Good?” he asked gently as Potter grimaced and clutched at his side, but he still smiled. 

“Good.” All three looked up to where they could hear Ron struggling above them, and Draco could hear Hermione muttering next to him.

“ _ Devil’s Snare, Devil’s Snare _ ,” she whispered, her eyes closed as she tried to concentrate. “ _ It’s deadly fun- _ ”

“ _But will sulk in the sun,_ ” Draco supplied, the line voiced through his mind from Professor Sprout. Hermione, holding tight to her wand, aimed it upwards as a burst of bright light lit the cellar area. Ron broke through the vines, landing hard and gracelessly on the floor. The light dimmed, leaving them all heaving for breaths and coated in dust. Hermione helped Ron to his feet, and he leaned heavily against her for a moment before he found his footing. With pink on his cheeks, he looked away from, a “thank you” on his lips.

 

Together, they pressed forward, passing through the trails laid out before them underneath the school - “They’re not birds! They’re keys!” - “We’re going to have to be chessmen.” - until they found themselves trapped upon checkerboard and unable to pass any further. All four would have their own wounds to bear. 

“I have to keep going,” Potter said, mostly to himself, and he made a move to continue walking, Hermione crouched next to Ron and Draco looking on anxiously. “Get Ron out of here, send word to Dumbledore if you can.”

“We can’t just leave you here,” Draco found himself saying, his voice small and hoarse. Potter turned back to them, and Draco saw that he looked so tired, drained. This boy had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he was going to carry it until it crushed him, leaving nothing behind but a broken body. “ _ He’ll _ kill you.” Potter remained quiet, and Draco thought perhaps he was ignoring him. “ _ Harry _ .”

“ _ He’s _ tried before, let  _ Him _ try again.” He could hear Hermione stifling a sob behind him, but Draco let himself cry. He tried so hard to push it all away, but when it mattered most, he could finally let himself. He didn’t say anything; instead he rushed forward, and dragged Harry into a hug. He startled but returned it, and the two of them simply clung to each other for a few breaths, Draco shaking and Harry breathing heavily as though he would cry. 

“Take Hermione back, and send help, yeah? I won’t be able to keep Snape off for long.” Harry’s voice was close to his ear, and Draco could hear his breath. He nodded, and went to pull away but Harry kept him in place for a few more beats. “Draco?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.” He couldn’t help but laugh slightly. 

“What for?” Harry finally pulled back so that he could look at Draco, and in his eyes, Draco could see a maturity that a boy his age should not have to hold. He smiled. 

“For being here.” Harry let him go, and stumbled back, turning towards Hermione and crouched down beside her. 

“Get him to the hospital wing,” he whispered quietly to her, nodding in Ron’s direction. She nodded, wiping at her eyes, her face red and blotchy. She grabbed his shoulders, and hugged him, and Draco could see her speaking, but could not hear what she was saying. 

Finally, Harry stood, and shook his head, his hair falling over his forehead, and Draco could see him bracing himself. He wanted to pull him back, away from whatever lay ahead, pull him back and hug him, and keep him safe. Yet he knew Harry would not allow him to. 

Harry chanced one last glance back at them and stepped through the door, closing them with a band that shuddered through the cavern. Everything went silent, the torches going out one by one in succession, the only noise being their haggled breathing. Draco took in a deep breath, giving himself a moment to come back to himself, and turned back to Hermione, who was now struggling to get Ron upright. 

“He’s unconscious…” she said to no one in particular, her voice trembling, and Draco came to her right. “Can you?” She nodded opposite, and Draco moved to hold Ron up by his shoulder. 

Together, the two maneuvered him limply back through the corridors, and out of the chamber. 

* * *

They didn’t find Harry until several hours later, bruised but not beyond recognition. His face scarred and contorted in sadness, he was placed in the hospital wing, and deemed alright, only battered. He hadn’t woken up yet.

Hermione and Ron had been the first let in to see him. Draco tried not to feel upset that he wasn’t allowed. He watched as Ron hobbled through the door, Hermione helping to keep him steady, and he watched as Madame Pomfrey closed the doors behind them, her expression unreadable. 

He knew he should be angry, and there would be time where he would allow himself, but soon enough, Hermione and Ron had finished their visit, as Ron needed to rest and heal. It was only then that Draco was allowed through, Madame Pomfrey already reminding him to be quiet as he did so. 

Despite what all four had gone through, despite everything he was feeling and despite his aching body, he had nothing to say, and he wasn’t upset at himself. He wasn’t angry at  _ himself _ , he was angry at what caused him to feel such contempt. Thoughts of his father flashed through his mind, thoughts of Dumbledore - for the old man was the cause of much pain - thoughts of  _ Him _ . 

He allowed himself to sense it all, everything he had once pushed away for fear of his father’s retaliation. He was to be seen, not heard, and so repressed all that would cause him to be anything less than the prodigal son. And for a time, he had allowed himself to do so, had wanted his father to see him as such, had  _ wanted _ to be the prodigal son. But now, the thought sickened him. 

Sitting beside Harry’s bed gave him the realization that all he needed and all he wanted was already his. And when Harry awoke, Draco was no longer at his bedside, but he was no longer so far away.

* * *

“You will write, won’t you?” Hermione was saying to Ron, who nodded as though he had already been asked the same question several times before, but he did not look put out.

“Yes, yes ‘mione,” he said with a smile on his face, and she turned to Harry, who was already chuckling as he handed over a note with his address on it. His hands had been bandaged tight, and his face still sported many purple bruises, and yet he kept a tired smile on his face. 

“Already ahead of you,” he smirked, and Draco felt at peace despite it already being the end of the school year. Harry turned to him, and note in his hands ready for Draco to take, but he stopped short. “Where will you go?” Instinctively, Draco looked down at his hands, ready to fidget under scrutiny, before he shook himself out of it. 

“Back the manor,” he said quickly, and spying the look on Harry’s face, waved a hand dismissively. “Father will not approve, of course, but Mum does have a way with words. The manor will have to be big enough for all three of us.” Harry looked sad for a moment. “Guess we’re both going back to shitty lives.”

Harry looked up at him in shock for a moment before a smile bloomed on his face. “Guess so.” He hesitated before thrusting his hand out, giving Draco the note. “Write me?” Draco nodded.

“Only if you promise to write back.” The two smiled at each other, Harry breaking it, grabbing Draco’s arm to pull them back over to where Ron and Hermione were standing. 

“How is it that a year’s already gone by?” Ron was saying, welcoming the two into the conversation. “We’re practically adults now.” Hermione chuckled. 

“We might as well be. Almost ancient.”

“Decrepit.” The four of them stood together laughing, peace apparent on their features. Far behind them, the Hogwarts Express puffed its engine, and they hurried onto the train - “Everywhere else is full,” Hermione pointed towards an empty carriage. - the castle feeling far behind them. 

The four settled into a contented quiet atmosphere, the Hogwarts Express slowly pulling out of the station, at first a slow movement but surely accelerating into a fast pace along the tracks. They gazed out the windows, spying the barely visible turrets peeking out past the treeline. 

Sitting among them, Draco felt he could breathe, actually breathe, and have the breath reach into his lungs and come out pure. And as the castle disappeared entirely from sight, Draco couldn’t help but feel that his story was ending; it was only just beginning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it! This is the longest work I've written so far, the first chaptered story I've posted, and it's really only just beginning. 
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me for so long, and for helping me to keep the motivation to continue writing. 
> 
> Make sure to keep a look out for "Year Two",  
> -Isaiah
> 
> I’ve also recently opened writing commissions. You can contact me at:  
> irdwriting@gmail.com if you would like any information or would like to commission me!
> 
>  
> 
> twitter: @heynancyboy  
> tumblr: @ohohpierre

**Author's Note:**

> Each year will have about 2-3 chapters unless there's too much in a particular year. Thanks for sticking with me for so long, now it's my turn to actually stick with this. I've never done a chapter story before. 
> 
> Find me  
> \- @ohohpierre.tumblr.com


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